


Pressure Points

by Xela



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Seduction, Smooth Move Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew Murdock, not just a pain in the ass anymore!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Points

Foggy hasn't worried himself into a headache since law school finals, hunched over his books for hours until his muscles were rocks and he was suddenly throwing up from the pain radiating through his head. The irony being he almost missed them because of studying.

This time, though, it's completely Matt's fault. Matthew Murdock, not just a pain in the ass anymore! Ugh, it hurts to be sarcastic right now. It hurt to be alive, and he wonders if any of Matt's murderous friends would like to drop by and save him from the pain.

He whimpers as a sliver of light cuts across his vision, tucking his head underneath the closest pillow even as that small movement makes his gorge rise. His skin feels too hot, the sheets too rough, sound too loud. There's only one person who'd be here, though, which means—

"G'way," he manages to grit out.

"Foggy..." Matt's voice is perfect. Low and rolling, soothing where every other sound is sharp as a knife. The cause of his headache is the only thing he can stand at the moment. That’s not at all something he should read into. Nope. 

Foggy doesn't answer, just tries to breathe though another swell of pain. It would be really fitting if he threw up on Matt, right? Maybe not on him, on him, but like…on his shoes?

"Jesus, Foggy. You should have called." 

Foggy, past meaningful verbal communication, grunts from underneath his pillows and hopes Matt knows it mean, _What could you do, Matt? Would you even pick up your phone? This is all your fault, you stupid, insane bastard. Why are you here? Go away, Dread Pirate Roberts, I would like to suffer in--hoshitwhat the HELL._

Matt's hands settle over his neck and head, warm and soothing as his voice until fingers of steel press into the knots on his neck, at certain places on his skull and—a flash of pain that leaves his vision sparking, but when Matt's (glorious, wonderful, amazing) hands lift away the pain has faded to something manageable: a throbbing tension headache behind his eyes. The relief is so instantaneous Foggy starts feeling loopy, high on endorphins he doesn't really need any more, but he'll take them in exchange for the past few hours of unrelenting pain.

Matt doesn't stop, though. His magic hands trail down Foggy's back, pushing and kneading all the tension and stress away. He finds every problem spot with unerring accuracy, makes Foggy shout and dig his fingers into the mattress because it hurts like a mofo. It’s hands down the best massage Foggy has ever had. When Matt’s done, searched and destroyed every problem spot, he becomes one with his mattress.

Matt’s hands are now lightly, pleasantly rubbing Foggy down. He pauses occasionally to roll his knuckles over certain places, nowhere any other masseuse has paid attention to, but Foggy don’t care ‘cause he feels gooooooood. So good. Too good?

"The hell, man?" Foggy mumbles when he scrapes a couple of functioning brain cells together. “Feels nice.”

"I know how to do more than just hit people, Foggy," Matt says in that annoyingly even tone of his. Foggy would try for indignant but he's too relaxed and too high. He huffs a laugh devoid of humor because he's still mad. Still trying to wrap his mind around Matt's _utterly insane_ life choices, but fuck it. He's not firing on all cylinders, and Matt, in addition to dressing up like the world's most basic superhero, is a massage savant.

And that's when Foggy realizes his tension hasn't gone away, it's just fled a little further south than his neck and shoulders.

He tries to be cool about it, just, you know, normal biological reaction, right? Happens to people all the time. Nothing to see here, nope. No siree Bob. He’s just gonna—

“I need to get to your adductor muscles.” Matt’s stopped touching him, and his back feels cold. Also, Foggy is really turned on. Shit.

“My what now?”

“I need you to roll over so I can relieve the tension in the rest of your muscles,” Matt says, and the bastard is laughing at him. Also: no.

“I’m really okay where I am,” Foggy says, wiggling to show just how comfortable he is.

“Do you want the headache to come back?”

“Pretty sure it’s terrified of your stupidly strong hands,” Foggy says blithely. “Where’d you learn to do this anyways?”

“The body works together as a whole, Foggy. I’m rather intimately familiar with its mechanics.” Foggy contemplates just how much Matt’s words aren’t helping him with his problem. “Now turn over so I can finish you off.”

“You know, I think I’m really good, your hands are like stress be gone. So thanks, even though this was your fault, it was nice, I’m just gonna take a na—“

“Foggy.” He knows that tone of voice. That’s the one Matt gets when he’s decided to do something and God help anyone who gets in his way. Silence stretches between them until Foggy sighs and rolls over, making sure his lower half stays under the covers. Dammit, Matt.

He covers his eyes with his arm because Matt can’t see details (right? Shit.) and it’s only fair that Foggy meet him on equal ground, and he’s always been a fan of that ‘out of sight, out of mind’ thing. (Though if Matt were interested in being fair, he, too, would be fighting the very visible _tension_ in his own body.) He starts thinking about other things: the money he could have been making with Landman  & Zack, Marci calling him ‘Foggy Bear’ in front of the partners, that time he destroyed an art student’s final project… None of it’s working, but there’s always the possibility that Matt won’t know, right?

“Do you have any idea what you smell like?”

“I don’t…what?” He realizes he’s spent most of Matt’s visit feeling completely out of his depth. Also, the smell thing is so weird and what exactly is Matt implying here?

Matt leans in and _sniffs_ him which, ok, apparently Foggy’s discovered a new kink. Or maybe he’s just decided everything Matt does works for him because it kind of does? Even the whole man-in-black thing is kind of hot, bruises not withstanding, and—

“Foggy.” 

“Yes! What, ah, I mean…yes?” Matt laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement, and then presses the softest kiss to Foggy’s lips. Oh. OH. _Oh wow._ He’s pretty sure Matt knew exactly what his massage was doing to Foggy. Bastard. 

“You learn that in kung fu spy class too?” Foggy accuses.

“No,” Matt says, and kisses Foggy again. “Might have…extrapolated a couple things.” Foggy sighs and gives in, pulls Matt into a kiss because the man cured him of a headache and busted out the seduction techniques.

Also, because it’s Matt and his hands really are magical.


End file.
